


Touch

by StellaC



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Incest, Kink Meme, M/M, Rutting, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 01:02:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StellaC/pseuds/StellaC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor had been having sexual fantasies of his oh-so-sassy father, and he couldn't hide it anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

> I can't write smut...ORZ
> 
> Fill for asscreedkinkmeme: http://asscreedkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1795.html?thread=10242307#cmt10242307

 

It all started at that damn brewery.

Or, specifically, the moment when Connor grabbed Haytham by the waist, and they broke through the wooden window and fell into the water below.

For a person who didn’t like being touched at all, for some reason, Connor found his full bodily contact with his father rather comforting, and arousing. The warmth of his body. The slight scent of his perspiration. And the feeling of security by holding on to such firmness.

Never mind the cold, filthy water they both soaked in seconds later. Being touched, by his father, just felt awfully good.

And it had been all he could think about for the past week.

Oh, and chasing Benjamin Church, of course.

 

“So, where exactly did you find this…boat?” drawled Haytham. “Though it looked vaguely familiar.”

Connor snapped out of his thoughts, where his father’s fingers entwined with his lavish dark hair, and glared at him.

“This SHIP was called the ‘Ghost of the North Sea,’ and for a good reason,” he retorted, meanwhile glancing over to Mr Faulkner at the wheel. “Also I believed it was the one that almost sunk the _Providence_ 25 years ago.”

“Ah.” Haytham nodded, mockingly. “Almost.”

Connor frowned.

“Do you have anything better to do, other than mocking me?”

Before Haytham could say anything, he added, “I think not. So if you’ll excuse me, _father_ , I have to fulfil my duty as Captain.” He then softly patted his father on the back, twice, before leaving for the Captain’s cabin.

Haytham blinked, and turned to look at his son’s receding back with a slightly perplexed look on his face.

 

Even though he hated to admit that, Mr Faulkner had turned out to be quite the pleasant company for Haytham, despite his sickening loyalty to his foolish son.

He was also very good at playing Nine Men’s Morris.

It was a quiet night. The weather was nothing but pleasant. The salty ocean breeze on the deck was refreshing.

The _Aquila_ was steadily sailing south in full sail.

But despite everything, Haytham had the feeling of being watched. It made him uneasy, and a bit alarmed.

He moved one of his white pieces carelessly, then turned towards the cabin’s door.

Unsurprisingly, Connor was standing there, staring at him in a…a sad and wanting way.

Haytham raised his eyebrows at him, as if to inquire what the matter was.

However, Connor just shook his head, and went back inside.

How odd, thought Haytham.

But he quickly put that behind his mind and returned to his game anyways.

 

It had been getting worse.

Connor realized he could no longer concentrate as long as Haytham, his father, was within his eyesight. And he became downright lost if he stood nearby.

Like right now, he was supposed to be sparring with him. Even though they were both unarmed, it still demanded a lot of his attention.

However, all that in his mind right now was how much he wanted to touch his father’s firm chest and abdomen, how much he desired to caress every inch of that lean and muscular body, and how much he yearned for those long and beautiful fingers wrapping around his –

Then Haytham planted a right hook on his face. The punch itself didn’t have much force, but because Connor was very distracted, he was easily tumbled to the ground.

Haytham didn’t waste any time to straddle him. He looked at him from above, frowning.

“What’s the matter with you, Connor? Surely even you shouldn’t be knocked down by such a half-arsed blow?” he demanded.

Connor wanted to say something to defend himself, but his brain was filled with the thoughts of how nice it was to be straddled like this, how much he wished Haytham to go further, to tear his clothes apart, to plant kisses all over his body. Those obscene thoughts were screaming and screaming, and just couldn’t be stopped.

He felt that there was a ball of fire starting to gather below his navel, and he –

“Nothing. I was just distracted.” He pushed his father away before the older man sensing something wrong, and climbed back up from the floor.

Haytham took a quick step backward and steadied himself. “Oh? But you’ve been acting like that quite often lately,” he pointed out. “What? Are you afraid?”

“Never,” said Connor, bluntly. “I – I really should be tending other matters now. I’ll see you at dinner, _father_.”

Then he practically fled the scene, pretending not to notice Haytham’s piercing sight boring on his back.

This is getting out of hand, he thought, frustrated.

And he had no idea how to stop.

 

There must be something going on with his idiot of a son.

That boy had been acting peculiar recently. He sometimes touched Haytham unintentionally, like a pat on the back or a light stroke on the elbow. He also often seemed so distracted, skittish even. Not to mention that weird look on his face the other night.

Suddenly, Haytham caught sight of said son, who was standing by the main mast, talking with that bald gunnery officer – What’s his name? Dave? David? Never mind – and, laughing.

This is getting stranger and stranger, he wondered.

He acted so normal now, but when he was with Haytham, he’d - 

Wait a second.

So that was it. It was because of him.

But why though?

It didn’t feel like hostility or hatred. Or even annoyance. Rather, it felt like - 

Oh dear.

Haytham sucked in a sharp breath.

Father of Understanding be damned. His own son had been taking a fancy to _him_.

And to his even greater surprise, he didn’t mind at all. Not the slightest.

As a matter of fact, he himself rather appreciated Connor’s wild grace, as well as that strong and sculpted body.

But, he was his son, his own flesh and blood. It would be unwise, _most_ unwise to reciprocate such feelings.

Not to mention they were supposed to be mortal enemies.

But Haytham still wondered what it would be like to – to bed Connor, what it would be like to touch that sweaty bronze skin, what it would be like to listen to his groan and moan and snarl.

No, it was not lust. Just curiosity.

However, somehow the cooling ocean breeze became so much warmer all of a sudden.

“I need some tea,” he mused aloud.

He then spun and disappeared into the cabin as quickly as humanly possible.

 

A loud moan woke Haytham from his foggy dream.

As a well-trained assassin, he had always been a light sleeper, and was able to become alert the second he opened his eyes.

He swiftly and quietly got up from his cot, and scanned the Captain’s cabin with his second sight.

No one was there, other than his son, who was lying flat in his bed on the opposite side of the room, soundly asleep.

What an incompetent Assassin he was, tutted Haytham.

However, sleep had completely escaped him by now, so Haytham lit up the candle on the table, and poured himself a cup of tea.

Then he noticed that large bulge in Connor’s crotch, and swallowed.

And Connor chose to let out another moan at the exactly moment.

Haytham couldn’t help but groan.

I’m going to hell for this, he decided.

So he put down the untouched tea, went to sit on the edge of Connor’s bed, and slightly shook him on the shoulder.

“Connor?” he said, softly.

“Mmph?” Connor jerked slightly, and slowly opened his eyes. “What…?” He sounded disoriented.

“Are you having dreams?” asked Haytham.

When he saw Connor started to blush and felt pleased, he teased some more, “Are those dreams about me?” His voice was low and silky, almost like a purr.

Then his right hand just oh-so-accidentally brushed Connor’s clothed erection, causing the younger man to yelp.

“What…! I…!”

The boy hastily sat up, with his hand holding on the wall, and his eyes widened.

“Answer the question,” said his father, all calm and composed.

Connor opened his mouth to say something, but then closed again. He stared at Haytham, with eyes full of confusion, anger, as well as a hint of lust.

Eventually, he gave out an almost indistinguishable grunt, “Yes.”

“Tell me about it.”

Connor swallowed loudly. He then stuttered, “You were – we were kissing. Your tongue –” The rest of the sentence was drowned by Haytham’s dry, warm lips.

Out of surprise, Connor parted his lips slightly, giving Haytham the chance to slip his sweet tongue into his son’s mouth, exploring every inch and every corner.

Connor was stunned at first, and didn’t know how to react. But then he snapped back into reality and started to mimic Haytham’s movements.

The kiss tasted sweet. There were a lot of licking and chasing, just like a game of hide and seek. He couldn’t help but whine and sigh.

After a prolong battle of lips and tongues and teeth, Haytham withdrew a little, and asked, maybe a bit breathlessly, “What else?”

“You were touching me.” Connor was still felling slightly dazed. “My chest. My shoulders. My neck. And you marked me with your teeth. I couldn’t breathe.”

Haytham smirked. He lower his head to lick a trail from behind his ears to his collar bones. And Connor shivered. His shaking fingers automatically started to undress his father, hastily, impatiently.

“Easy, boy.” Haytham snorted slightly. He then went back to Connor’s side of the neck and sucked, listening to his son’s whine with satisfaction.

He used his left hand to hold Connor’s head, the right hand to unbutton his shirt, exposing the sculpted torso. His wicked tongue licked its way to Connor’s left nipple. And he bit, just enough to make the young Assassin squirm.

But Connor, like the wild beast that he was, did not like being tamed and dominated at all. With however little clearness in the head he remained, he caught Haytham by surprise, as he took hold of his arms and pulled him onto the bed. He then swiftly rolled over, and straddled the older man.

“Is that part of your dreams as well?” asked Haytham, amused.

“Does it matter?” replied Connor, as he started licking and nibbling his father’s Adam’s apple, then the hollow between collar bones, then his chest, then his abdomen, then his navel. Haytham couldn’t help moaning, and locking in his son’s eyes, seeing the fire in them. His hands entwined with Connor’s lavish long hair. His cock hardened in his breeches.

Connor smiled, straightened up, and moved to tug the laces of his own breeches, as Haytham was doing the same.

They were both so hard and red and ready. So Connor lowered his body, and experimentally rocked his hip against Haytham’s.

They both gasped.

The friction and heat felt glorious. Connor rolled his hip again, and again, and again. It felt like he was riding a wild horse, running in the wilderness, faster and faster. Everything seemed so blurry yet gorgeous.

Haytham pulled his son down for a sloppy, rough kiss, and impatiently arched up his pelvis, trying to match up with Connor’s tempo.

It had been a long time since he let go of himself like that. Maybe far too long.

Connor snarled, and bit Haytham on the shoulder. Haytham let out a loud moan. But it was stifled by his son’s aggressive kiss.

Connor picked up the pace and felt a tsunami of pleasure and euphoria approaching, just minutes, seconds away. Then his body tensed. He growled like a beast. His penis was throbbing. White fluid spilled onto Haytham’s stomach in waves before it finally stopped.

Haytham finished almost immediately. He let out a choke. He arched up his hip. His brain went blank.

Then they both slumped together, sweaty, sticky, boneless, panting, and content.

Moments later, Haytham complained, with a voice raw and raspy, “Move away, boy. You’re crushing my bones.”

Connor let out a throaty chuckle. “Getting old already?”

Still, he compliantly removed himself from the older man, and let out a satisfied sigh when he hit the mattress.

“Just wondering what the bloody hell you’ve been feeding yourself,” said Haytham, as he slowly getting out of the bed to reach that rag hung on the wall. “You must weight a ton.” He then haphazardly wiped out the semen on his stomach, before tossing the rag onto Connor’s face.

“Oomph.”

Connor took the rag, rolled his eyes, and cleaned himself.

By the time he was done, Haytham already put his shirt and breeches back on.

He sighed, then laughed softly towards Connor. “This must be the most unbecoming, salacious family bonding activity known to man,” he said, not feeling sorry at all.

“Indeed,” agreed Connor, smiling. “But being touched by you, _father_ , is also the best feeling known to man.”


End file.
